The Fundamental Things Apply
by EffieAgo
Summary: Garak and Bashir try a holosuite program and things go awry or Garak and Bashir ruin Casablanca. Garak/Bashir.


Garak leaned against the railing of the mezzanine and surveyed his establishment with a rare feeling of fulfilment. There were still a few hours before opening time and he was already done with the day's administrative work. It felt good to be on top of things. Downstairs in the bar's main room a few members of his staff were busy spreading tablecloths and straightening chairs. The head waiter, Otto, noticed him looking and gave him a respectful nod. Garak noted the lack of fear in his employees' eyes as he looked around with a small smile. While the sting of exile would never completely vanish, there was something comforting in presiding over such a well-run place. He straightened up and began to head back toward his office when a voice called out from below. "Elim!" Garak turned around. "There you are. I do hope you're not planning on cancelling lunch again." A middle-aged human man in uniform made his way up the stairs, odd-looking hat tucked under his arm.

"Captain Moreau. I wouldn't dream of it," Garak said with a smile. "I believe it's your turn to choose the restaurant?"

two weeks earlier

"So, what do you think?" Dr. Bashir asked with a smile as he stretched out his arms in the small, rustic-looking café. Garak blinked slowly. "Is it too bright? Computer, decrease brightness by 10 percent." The weeks following the removal of his implant had seen the deepening of his friendship with the young Federation doctor and the beginning of their, well, relationship wasn't the right term. Not yet, at least, and he couldn't bear to hope that anything might change for the better. Arrangement, he decided. Along with that very welcome development had come the rather less desirable attempts by Bashir to make Garak's experience on the station more tolerable. Because it wouldn't do for the doctor's colleagues to find out about their liaison, this often involved being forced to endure tiresome or embarrassing holoprograms. At the very least this one didn't seem to contain any scantily-clad massage therapists.

"Well, it's certainly…" The interior of the building they stood in was crowded with small tables covered with blue and white checkered cloths. There was a bulky instrument called a piano in the middle of the room and sunlight streamed through windows facing a busy street. Lace curtains obscured the scene outside, but he could hear primitive motorized vehicles and people talking as they walked by on the pavement outside. There were only a few other patrons inside. He looked around the room slowly. The men wore the same simple, old-fashioned Terran-style suits that Garak and Bashir were in, but the women were dressed in outfits more akin to the current fashions favored by Cardassian ladies than anything he'd seen female Federation citizens wear.

"Different? I know, but I think you might enjoy 20th century Paris." Bashir sighed. "Look, I know it can't compete with that Cardassia Prime program you like so much, but I'm not sure I can handle being thrown out of another restaurant."

"Yes, that was unfortunate," Garak said, narrowing his eyes. "I can assure you, my dear, if he'd been a real person rather than a holographic projection that waiter would have lived to regret his actions."

His lover turned to him with a rather unbecoming smirk on his face. "Oh really? Is that so?"

"I simply meant that I would have complained to his supervisor." Garak said while raising an eyeridge with as much dignity as he could muster. He had, in fact, sent an anonymous tip about the man in question to the program's version of the Obsidian Order when Bashir wasn't looking, but he decided not to share that little detail with the doctor.

"Oh, right, obviously." Bashir said with a shake of his head. "Come on, Garak, let's just try it, OK? This program is supposed to be based on a famous old Earth story. It's not one I know much about but there's apparently romance and drama. I think you might enjoy it."

Garak did enjoy it. There really wasn't much in the way of a storyline as far he could tell. Their characters were two strangers in a foreign city who became lovers after agreeing not to discuss each other's mysterious pasts. A bit on the nose, maybe, but it was a relief to be able to just exist somewhere with Dr. Bashir without scrutiny, anger or half-mumbled slurs. They toured the city, took long walks, went to restaurants and nightclubs and, after some prodding, Garak even let Bashir drive them out into the countryside in one of the terrifying vehicles people of that period used. Despite all the levity, underneath the festive mood that went along with summer in a beautiful city there were ominous rumblings; the kind of signs he'd been trained to pick up on. Bashir had told him it was the beginning of a devastating war and a particularly dark period for his homeworld, though he couldn't give many more details ("I'm a doctor, not a history teacher!"). By their third visit, the war and impending invasion were no longer ignorable and the tension permeated every aspect of life in the city. It was decided that they should leave before the occupational forces arrived. Garak considered requesting that they disable the story function and just continue as before, but he could tell Dr. Bashir wanted something more exciting. Well, it might be nice to explore some other part of the planet and he could even see the appeal of a clandestine escape when one's life wasn't actually at risk.

He looked around the crowded transit platform impatiently. It seemed like half the city had decided to get out before the invading army arrived. On top of that, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. What was taking Bashir so long? Wherever they ended up, he hoped it would be warmer because the bitterly cold rain certainly felt real. "Mr. Garak!" He looked up to see Nick, a piano player they'd befriended at their regular café who had offered to bring Bashir to the station. "I-I couldn't find him. He- he checked out of the hotel." The man dug for something in his coat pocket while trying to catch his breath.

Garak tried to keep his thoughts straight. "What do you mean you couldn't find him? Where else could he have gone?"

"He left this for you at reception." Nick handed him an envelope containing a folded notecard. "Now, we gotta get out of here. It won't be safe for you when the Germans find out who you are."

"Don't be absurd. We can't leave without-" The words on the card were written in beautiful but slightly archaic script and they took a moment to sink in. Garak fought back dizziness. Impossible. He read it again as raindrops stained the paper. "Computer! End program!"

The miserable scene disappeared and suddenly Julian was in front of him. On arm slightly extended as if raised in a toast with whatever new lover he'd ran off with. He looked puzzled. "Garak? What's wrong? I thought we agreed we'd stop at the two-hour mark."

It took every ounce of control Garak had to contain the fury that ran through his veins like poison. It was only a holonovel. He knew that, but still. "I apologize, but I'm afraid I am quite fatigued."

"Oh, I see. All right. Then would you like to come back to my quarters for a drink? I'll be sure not to tire you out any more than is strictly necessary." The doctor's smile was sly and flirtatious and caused a pain in Garak's chest. "Or we could go to your quarters? I could read one of those awful enigma tales to you."

"No, I think not, Doctor. Another time."

Bashir frowned. "OK, well, do you want to finish up here tomorrow night? We'll have to be careful because Jadzia has the night off so she might be in Quark's playing Tongo, but-"

"Unfortunately, I have several important orders to finish up. I doubt I'll be able to make time for any holosuite diversions until late next week at the earliest." He had started out just making excuses, but a plan began to form. Maybe they could finish this accursed program, but it would be on Garak's terms.

"Sure. I guess just let me know when you're ready. Are we still on for lunch?"

Garak turned toward the door without making eye contact. "I'll let you know. Goodnight, Doctor."

"Um, right, goodnight Garak."

the present

Garak took a bite of the dish in front of him. The spices weren't quite like the proper Cardassian ones he missed so much, but he couldn't help but be reminded of zabu meat stew. After the disastrous end to his and Bashir's visit to Paris, he'd returned to the program alone every few days. He felt reasonably sure that Quark, who seemed to have enough good sense to be afraid of him, was being discreet. The solo holosuite sessions had been meant only for intelligence gathering to prepare for the doctor's return, but he had to admit there were some pleasant aspects. He watched his lunch companion nibble at his rather sad-looking sandwich. "I don't know why you don't try more of the local food, Captain. It's one of the nicest things about Casablanca. It's almost enough to make up for the cold."

"Cold? It must be at least 25 degrees outside. I'm not sure I'll ever fully understand you, Elim."

"Nor I you, Captain. Tell me, have you finished the arrangements for your distinguished visitors?" The expected arrival of a Major Albrecht and party had been Moreau's main topic of conversation lately.

The prefect of police smiled grimly. "Almost. You can never be too careful with these people. Everything has to be perfect. And now with this business of the missing documents and the two murdered couriers..."

Ah, so the information he'd picked earlier that day had been reliable. Garak did his best to keep the pleased expression off his face. "Yes, I heard something about that. How distressing." What was actually distressing was the idea of travel permits made out of paper. Just thinking about enforcing such a system was enough to give him a headache. He kept those thoughts to himself and instead considered what this meant in for the story. "It's not like people don't regularly slip in and out of Casablanca, though." It was even worse than Terok Nor (Deep Space Nine, Elim) when it came to people making it past the security precautions.

"No, though it's rather more complicated right now. It appears that a well-known Czechoslovakian resistance leader by the name of Vašek has escaped from a concentration camp in France and will be here in Casablanca by tomorrow with a companion. The Germans are insistent that they remain here. It's my job to make sure that they don't get their hands on those two letters of transit."

"A companion?" Garak asks with a smile. That was a euphemism if ever he'd heard one. It seemed that humans could be subtle occasionally. "If the goal is evading capture, I'd say this Vašek person only needs one exit visa."

"You haven't seen the companion." Moreau is smiling now too.

Garak concedes the point with a nod. "Oh, but I intend to." So, this is how things were meant to tie together. It had been two years in the story's timeline since he and Julian were separated in Paris and it looked like it was finally time for a reunion and he intended to be ready.

His friend seemed to have given up on his food. "Elim, I know you don't entirely approve of my decision to retain my position and cooperate with Vichy." He meant the government of the supposedly unoccupied portions of his home country. That included the territory they currently resided in, which was part of some sort of colony. Even without much knowledge of the conflict, it was clear to Garak that the people who made up this so-called government were little more than tools for the occupying power. Despite Moreau's boisterous declarations to the contrary and what was likely a life-long tendency toward corruption (if they'd been back home, Garak would have had enough evidence for a trial ten minutes into their first lunch), the captain was quite self-conscious about his role in current events. This is the first time he mentioned it outright, though. Despite knowing the man was nothing more than a hologram, Garak couldn't help shifting uncomfortably in his seat. No self-respecting Cardassian would ever broach such a delicate topic in public, with a casual acquaintance no less. "As an outsider, I can't see that it's my place to comment." He said, choosing his words carefully.

"More wine?" At Garak's nod, the man refilled the Cardassian's glass. "I realize it may not seem like it, but I do love my country." He narrowed his eyes. "I can tell you love yours too, the way you talk about it, despite whatever happened to make you leave." The man said with uncharacteristic sincerity. He leaned back in his chair but didn't lower his gaze. "I am being selfish, I won't deny it, but I am doing my job." He paused for a moment. "More or less. You and I both know that if I were to resign, they'd only replace me." He looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. "With someone more like them."

Garak nodded as he used a piece of soft, round bread to scoop up the last of his stew. "I can't say I completely agree with your argument, but I suppose you do have a point. Though I'm sure Major Kira would have you on some sort of list."

"Major who?" Moreau asked and then shook his head when no answer came as though he expected as much. "Enough about me and my little problems. Will this be the day you finally tell me why exactly you can't return to your precious New York?" Humans. They really ought to work on their off-putting directness.

the next evening

Garak adjusted the collar on the uncomfortable but admittedly sharp-looking suit and looked into the mirror in his office. Not too bad, he thought. He'd made it himself using patterns from the replicator and he had to admit that it made the part he was playing feel more real. Remind you of the old days, Elim? Back when you had a real purpose? He pushed the bitter voice in his head aside. Now was the time to focus.

This evening would provide him his chance to confront Bashir and gain the upper hand in this ridiculous little drama. His interactions with the doctor when they met at the holosuite this evening had been awkward, like all their interactions since Paris. Now things might actually change. He knew better than to be overconfident at such an early stage, but things were already going his way. He'd already had the distasteful experience of meeting Major Albrecht, an unpleasant individual who reminded whose attitude and demeanor wouldn't be out of place in the Central Command and who clearly enjoyed needling Garak about his exile. It's not like he wasn't used to that from nearly every other Cardassian who visited the station these days.

The most important event of the evening so far, however, was the arrival of a Ferengi-like petty criminal and black marketeer named Olano who had solved one mystery by asking Garak to hold on to two letters of transit he was intending to sell that evening. The documents were a perfect match to the description of those stolen from the dead couriers earlier that week and now Garak was the only one who knew where they were. Why people in this simulation kept insisting on trusting him, he had no idea. He turned to the kotra board on his desk. The next few moves could determine the outcome of the game.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Captain Moreau stood in the doorway in the white dress uniform that Garak couldn't help but admire. Impractical, surely, but they certainly beat those Starfleet monstrosities. That Dr. Bashir manages to look so attractive in that garish excuse for a uniform is nothing short of a wonder.

"Of course not, do come in. I'm simply considering strategy."

Moreau walked over to the desk and Garak noticed the man's smile seemed less genuine than normal. "What happened to chess?"

"Chess? No, thank you. A dull and unchallenging game. Kotra is far superior, wouldn't you agree?"

"I couldn't say. I prefer roulette."

"Naturally. Is there something I can do for you, Captain?" He usually enjoyed his banter with Moreau but tonight his thoughts were consumed by his Julian. Don't be so juvenile, Elim. He isn't and never will be your Julian.

"I'm just letting you know that an arrest will be made here in your café shortly." Garak nods. The captain must be referring to Olano. It appeared that the man's biggest misstep wasn't trusting Garak after all.

As he spoke, Moreau scanned Garak's face carefully as if looking for a reaction. He made sure to keep his expression neutral as he turned back to his game. "I see. Thank you for letting me know."

"You know I consider you a friend, Elim, but I'm going to have caution you against warning him in any way." The captain was trying for stern and intimidating and failed quite miserably.

Garak tried his best to suppress his amusement. "Captain, let me assure you that unless your men damage my furniture or scare away too many of my customers, you won't get any complaints from me." At least this would be an arrest for cause, unlike most of the others he'd witnessed in Casablanca that were simply lazy attempts to avoid actually dealing with the city's criminal elements, not to mention a burgeoning underground operating right under the noses of the authorities.

"All right then. I'm glad you're being sensible about things, but there's also the matter of our much-anticipated guests."

"Vašek and companion, you mean?"

Moreau nodded as he used a match to light what Bashir had called a "cigarette," which was apparently an inhalable addictive drug common in this era. Garak had concluded that it was remarkable that the Terran people managed to survive long enough to get to space at all. "Yes, they arrived today and checked into a hotel and are, as we speak, sitting in your bar."

"Are they? How intriguing." Garak kept his satisfaction to himself, but it had been his plan to stay in the shadows as much as possible until they arrived.

"I can't let Vašek get ahold of those papers, Elim." He offered his cigarette case to Garak and received a horrified look in return. "That's right, you don't smoke."

"I most certainly do not. May I ask why you think I might help Vašek escape?"

"Because, my dear Elim, I suspect that under that cynical shell you are at heart a sentimentalist."

Garak felt a chill down his spine. Me, sentimental. How absurd. "You're worrying in vain, Captain. I can assure you."

"If you say so." He nodded and turned to leave, though he didn't look particularly convinced. "If you'll excuse me, Major Albrecht will want to speak to our new guests."

Garak watched the other man leave then turned back to the kotra board. After a few minutes spent on deciding which of his glinns to move, he checked his reflection in the mirror again before descending the staircase. Nick, who was sitting at his piano, met Garak's eyes with a worried look. So, Dr. Bashir was definitely here. Then he saw them. Captain Moreau and Major Albrecht seated at a table with a beautiful human woman with dark swept-up hair and next to her in a well-tailored gray suit sat Julian Bashir.

"I hope I'm not intruding." Garak displayed what he hoped was his most menacing smile. The doctor smiled back, sheepishly.

The major didn't bother to hide his annoyance. "I thought you said you had a bar to run?"

Captain shot a concerned look at Garak. "Ah, Mademoiselle, may I present Monsieur Elim Garak, the proprietor of this establishment. Elim, this is Mademoiselle Renata Vašek. And this is-"

"Hello, Garak."

"Doc- that is, Mr. Bashir."

"Oh! You know each other!"

Renata Vašek turned to Bashir. "Julian?" But he only shakes his head silently in response.

"We've met. Do you mind if I sit?" Garak ignored Bashir as he pulled out a chair without waiting for an answer and looked instead at Major Albrecht who glared back at him.

"We're in the middle of something."

The woman raised her head defiantly and clasped hands with Dr. Bashir. "What is this about?"

"Yes, Garak, what is this about?" The doctor's voice was as haughty and beautiful as ever. Focus, Elim.

"It has come to my attention, Major, that you've been instructed to make sure Ms. Vašek remains here, in Casablanca.

"That's common knowledge, yes. I'm not sure what it has to do with you." The major tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.

"Well, it just so happens that I have access to documents that would make it much easier for these two to do exactly what you fear." Garak made sure they had eye contact. "Before you get any ideas, you should know that you'd never find them if anything were to… happen to me."

The tapping stopped. "Go on."

He could feel Moreau, Vašek and the doctor staring at him. "I would consider a trade."

"Forgive my skepticism, Mr. Garak, but from what I know of your politics-"

He inclined his head toward the major. "You may have been misinformed."

"I see. What is it you want?"

"I'll hand over the letters of transit if you see to it that exit visas are issued, and safe passage is insured, for me and Mr. Bashir."

The woman stood up forcefully. "That's outrageous!"

"My orders are that Mr. Bashir is to remain as well."

"In that case, I can offer you the names of five members of the local resistance cell as well as a list of their usual meeting places. Surely that's worth more to you than one escaped prisoner's paramour." Garak leaned back confidently. He wasn't completely certain about the fifth man, but he was a known associate of two of the others. It just showed that one could never be too careful when choosing friends.

"How is it that you have this information when Captain Moreau apparently doesn't?"

Garak smiled. "An excellent question. I suggest you look into that."

"Monsieur Garak-" Oh, what happened to "Elim"? The captain's face appeared several shades lighter than normal and it didn't look like he could manage a full sentence. Garak felt something twist in his stomach. Get a grip. It's not like you haven't done worse to actual people.

"Whatever it is you think you're doing, stop it now." Julian's eyes looked as big as saucers. For a fleeting moment he was reminded of another doctor, but he pushed that thought down before it could be fully formed.

"Do be quiet, my dear, we'll have plenty of time for discussion on our journey."

"Not unless you plan on tying me up and dragging me along with you!"

"Julian, calm down, please." Ms. Vašek placed an arm on the doctor's shoulder and Garak felt warmth under his neckridges.

"Yes, Julian. You should listen to her."

"Computer, pause program!" The scene froze and Bashir let out an exasperated sigh. "What the hell, Garak?"

"If you've had enough, we can simply quit."

"Yes, I rather think I have."

Garak smiled. "All right, then just concede that I won and-"

"Won?! We weren't playing a game!"

Eyeridges come together in confusion. "Weren't we?"

"What? Of course not." Bashir paused and he srunched up his unadorned forehead. "Wait. This is one of those things again, isn't it?" He reached across the table toward Garak's hand, only to have it pulled out of reach.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"It definitely is. Wait here. I'll be right back." Bashir was up from the table and already at the door. "I think we need a drink. A real one." True to his word, he returned after a few minutes with a bottle of springwine and two glasses. "I hope this is OK. I know you hate synthale."

Garak watched Bashir pour wine into each cup. "It's fine. Thank you, Doctor."

Julian gave him a small smile. "Computer, disable story and characters and run program." The room came to life again, except now the table was empty but for the two of them. "All right, Garak. Talk."


End file.
